Healing Our Broken Future
by Glass Box
Summary: (The characters watch the show. 2nd person POV; you equals Ed). It's been five months since...the incident. Rehabilitation isn't easy going, but it's going. Another day of trying to shake off the cold hand that trails shivers up your spine whenever you stare at your metal limbs too long goes completely wrong; an enormous flash of light, and your fragile world is sent for a loop.
1. Prologue

**I've had about 30 pages of this written for some time now. So until what I've written has been exhausted, updates will take place about once a week. I first posted this prologue without editing, but now I'm going to go through it and see if I can tame this metaphorical mop of unruly hair.~GB**

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"The sun is up...it's time to get out of bed, sleepy head."

You feel a warm slant of sunlight caressing your cheek. Golden light shines through your closed eyelids. Your body is heavy, and your bed seems to embrace you, drawing you close. "No. tired," you object to the voice, turning away from the light and drawing your blanket closer. A hand shakes you gently.

"Are you sure? The food will get cold."

All at once, multiple savory scents drift to your senses from the downstairs kitchen. You should be racing to eat such good smelling food, but a tiny warning bell is chiming in your head. The soft hand on your shoulder does not comfort like it should.

You turn your face deeper into your pillow. You should have known it was too good to be true. "Yeah. Jus' wanna sleep," you mutter—right before the voice turns distorted.

"Are you sure..."

Something drops to the floor. It splatters.

"...you can't save Mommy if you're sleeping."

Your heart skips a beat. Breath quickening, you slowly pull your blanket over your head, shutting out the sunlight. "...Where's Al?" you ask weakly.

"With me."

That sentence is damning. It slams into your heart with the weight of an anvil and pins the weak, fluttering organ against your chest cavity. "...No. No, that can't be true. You're lying."

"He's with me, Edward. Isn't that what you wanted?"

You struggle to even out your breathing, and gulp what little moisture is left in your dry mouth. "...N-no. Never."

"But he's happier here. It's no longer cold. He never liked the cold."

"I know that."

"You can be with us too. Get out of bed, little man. It's dark in there. Come on...wake up..."

"Brother, get out of bed!"

You choke on your own spit, lashing out beneath your covers at the booming voice. "Gyaa! Sonofa—"

Metal clanks and creaks nearby as it shifts. "Hmmph. You're impossible to wake up, Ed," Al sighs.

You stop thrashing around as your body flares with fire in protest. Panting softly, you look up to see your armored little brother with his gauntlets placed on his hips. An aroma that floats about the air gives you a sense of deja vu.

Winry appears in the doorway behind Al, carrying a tray full of food. "Finally! It's about time. Welcome to the land of the living," she greets crossly.

You groan and lean back into your pillow, moving your flesh arm over your eyes. You don't appreciate the brightness of the room or the loud voices. "What time is it?"

"10:45, Brother. Nearly midday."

"Yeah bonehead, we were nice to let you sleep in today, but now it's time to get up," Winry chides.

"And you should put something in your empty belly, too."

"Ugh," you grunt, feeling as if your automail put on a few pounds in the night-then animated itself and punched you repeatedly in the face. Al assists you in sitting up; a slow and agonizing process.

Winry settles the tray over your lap. "Well, I hope you're happy Edward. Breakfast is cold," she sniffs. "And to think I spent all that time slaving over it."

You lift your right hand, feel a flash of pain, grunt, and pick up your fork awkwardly in your left hand. You poke at a grape, watching it roll around your plate. The events from the other day are coming back to you now, even as every ache and discomfort rages against your consciousness for your attention.

"Brother, you shouldn't toy with your food," Al says quietly. Beginning to wake, the worry rimming his voice does not go over your head. You spear the grape and pop it into your mouth.

After you swallow, you shoot a grin at Al. "What do you think? At this point, should we call it breaklunch or lunfast?"

Winry swats your head playfully. "Idiot. The correct term is brunch." She jabs a finger at you severely. "Now you eat everything on that tray or you'll be eating nothing but dog food from here on out!"

"Hey!" you yelp indignantly.

"I don't know Winry, what will Den have then?" Al says.

"You're right, Al. The way he's eating, we might as well just give him bird seeds. And milk."

Al sends you a glance. You quickly take a big, disgusting bite out of your banana. You scowl at Winry, chewing. "No mi'k! Ev'l! Dn't oo haff anyfin' be'er oo do Winwy?"

Somehow, she manages to decipher your speech. "As a matter of fact, I do," she says, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. "I have some automail I need to touch up for a customer." She strides toward the door, turning to look at you just as she reaches it. She smiles. "Try to get your strength up, okay? Take it easy for once." With these words, she disappears around the doorway.

You stare after her for a moment before summoning back your scowl. "Whatever."

After your stomach starts shifting and convulsing, Al asks "How are you feeling today, Brother?"

You immediately turn from your food and give him your full attention. "I'm okay, Al. Tired 's all."

"Does anything hurt? How's your arm?" Al presses. You relent with a sigh. He won't stop peppering you with questions unless you let him know how you really feel; which is like city roadkill.

"To tell the truth, I'm completely exhausted from yesterday. But I have to keep going," you respond.

Al hums in discontentment. "But Brother, if you're hurting too much then you should let your body rest!"

"Yeah, I know," you wave your brother off. "I promise to take it easy, okay?"

How Al manages to look skeptical without any control over his facial features is a mystery to you. "Alright Brother, but..." his eyes narrow to slits. You can feel a dark aura emanating from Al and you subconsciously lean away from him. "...If you die I will pull your soul back through the gate and re-bond it to your body so I can kill you myself!"

"Don't be silly, Al," you chuckle nervously. "I won't die! What would give you that idea?"

Al looms over your bedded form. "Brother, Winry and I found you collapsed by the river yesterday after an hour of searching. You didn't have the strength to walk back to the house; I had to carry you. Don't overwork yourself."

Al's protective side is, for lack of a better word, scary. He's like your mother in that aspect. You nod. "Okay, Al. Whatever you say."

Al then reverts back to his sweet, innocent self faster than you can flip a light switch. "Great! Are Winry's pancakes as good as she says?"

You blink dully at his sudden change in attitude, then blanch when you register his words. "Wait—she really made this stuff?"

"Yep! That's what she said, right? She made all of it."

"Um...yeah." You regard your tray with suspicion, lifting up your pancake to inspect the underside. "I just never knew she could cook."

"Neither did I. But she looked like she knew what she was doing this morning."

"Oh."

Al watches in silence as you slowly and meticulously cut your pancake into pieces with a knife in your clumsy left hand, and a fork to hold it down in your shaking automail hand. At some point your automail slips, causing you to growl and clutch at your port in pain. "Dangit," you mutter.

Al looks like he wants to help, but he doesn't offer. You suddenly realize that you will have to take at least a day to rest before you can continue with your automail rehabilitation exercises, if cutting a pancake is difficult for you. Doing menial tasks that require precision motor skills has been the hardest thing for you to master so far, but it shouldn't be _this _hard. But you can't just sit in bed all day; that would accomplish nothing. As you continue to cut your pancake, an idea strikes you. "Hey, Al," you say, setting your fork and knife down.

Al startles out of some meditative state. "Huh? What's that?"

"We're going to be living on our own for a little while when we go to find this Colonel guy in East City. At least one of us is gonna have to learn how to cook, unless you want to starve. Oh, well, I mean, if I wanna starve," you backtrack, turning red.

Ever the good brother, Al pardons your blunder. "Hmm. We may be able to get food elsewhere, but it would be good to know how to cook if we're short on money. Oh, I'd be a terrible cook, I just know it..." he suddenly laments, a very un-Al-like thing to do.

"What's with the gloom? Trying to sneak away before everyone sees what monstrosity you can cook up in the kitchen?" you tease.

"Oh stop it, Ed. I'm serious! I've never cooked anything in my life...well, unless you count that peanut butter casserole we made when we were kids..."

"Which was awesome, and you know it!" you laugh. You actually can't remember this particular event very well. All you can recall is your father dumping it out the window for an old, fat cat to eat before your mother could see it.

"It made Sherman throw up," Al deadpans. Sherman. Figures Al would name the stray.

"Cats can't eat people food," you point out. "He'd barf if we fed him Mom's peach cobbler." You wave your flesh hand nonchalantly. "Don't stress it, Al. No one will care if you're a bad cook your first attempt at it. Just don't burn the house down and we'll forgive you."

If anything, this last statement only causes Al to go into a more dejected state. "Ohhhh..." he moans with his head down.

You push your tray away—half eaten—and stand up before Al can reach out to help you. Your leg pulses with pain and you can feel your right arm digging into your ribs and collar bone. It feels like your bones are actually bending under the weight. You are exhausted. "Come on, Al," you grunt. "Let's get going."

You forgo the crutch you use only sometimes these days, and begin moving at what feels like less than a snail's pace, restraining yourself from grabbing onto the wall for support. Al is inching along behind you, keeping up a steady conversation. You know that he's poised to catch you in event of a fall, and is trying to hide most of his concern for the sake of you dignity. A pleasant wave of gratitude for your little brother washes over you.

The stairs are difficult to navigate, and you are forced to hold to the railing as you descend them. Your leg shakes and wants to smash through each step like an anchor; you have to work hard to lower it slowly. Both of your automail limbs tremble and are hard to maneuver. Finally, after longer than you would like to admit, you make it to the bottom.

Granny Pinako is sitting in the entrance room in a rocking chair, smoking her pipe. She greets you as you arrive at the bottom of the stairs. "Ah, Ed. Good to see you finally awake."

"Morning Granny," you greet.

"Off to do your morning exercises? You should have Winry there to supervise, you know. She's the automail expert here."

"Uh, no, we're going to the kitchen. Ed wants to learn how to cook," Al chirps. Heat rises to your face at Pinako's look of surprise, and your face reddens further as she begins to laugh.

"Oh really? Never thought I'd see the day that you would willingly learn a housewife's trade, Ed! Well, you certainly have the hair going for you."

"Shut up!" you complain. You know your hair is long, now reaching to just above your shoulders. It's the fault of the barber who cracked a short joke and nearly cost you an ear; actually, come to think of it he was probably just asking how short you wanted your hair. But it doesn't matter because you look pretty rad with long hair.

"Might want to tie that up while you're in there," Pinako says.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter darkly, trudging towards the kitchen door, "Old hag." You say these last words to yourself, so your Granny can't hear. Al's hearing is better than Granny's, and he huffs that little sigh of his that lets you know he's exasperated, but far too used to your snarking to say anything.

"So, Al," Pinako addresses your brother before he can follow you. "Who's going to be your teacher?"

"Umm..." Al rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess no one. Winry's busy right now, but I watched her make breakfast earlier and I think I know what to do. Um, I think."

"Hmm." Pinako taps the end of her pipe against the chair arm with a small, knowing smirk. "Well don't expect any help from me. I'm far past the days where I can stand in a hot kitchen for longer than necessary."

"Of course!" Al affirms like he hadn't even considered asking her for help.

"There are some recipe books by the breadbox that you can use. The ones on the left are the easiest to follow in my opinion."

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Al says, trotting into the kitchen after you.

"Don't burn the house down!"

"So. What do we need to do first?" you ask, standing by the counter uselessly—having absolutely no clue where to start.

Al approaches a line of side-by-side books and carefully inspects their titles before selecting one. "We'll need to pick a recipe first. Oh, and..." he glances around the kitchen and spots something hanging on the wall by a nail. He removes it and hands it to you. "Put this on to protect your clothes, Brother."

You accept it from him and shake it out—making a face when you realize it's an apron; a bright yellow and white checkered apron with a purple flower embroidered on the pocket. You toss it backhanded out the open window while Al searches through the cupboards, vowing to transmute Winry and Granny Pinako a better one later. You watch with mild amusement as the apron catches on the wind and flutters off like a magic carpet. So worth it.

Al sets a mixing bowl and a few cooking utensils on the counter. "Okay, what do you want to try making?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Whatever you want to do is fine," you shrug.

"Hmmm." Al flips through the recipe book thoughtfully. "...I've never heard of a lot of these things."

More minutes of searching later than you care to count, you have reached the end of your patience. You snatch the book out of Al's hands, rapidly turning through the pages. "You had your chance little brother—now we're making whatever's on page fifty-five."

"Brother!" Al yips, then reads over your shoulder "...Choose-a-Flavor Float?"

"What the heck kind of food is that?" you wonder.

"One half cup desired ice cream or sherbert...two-thirds to three-thirds cup desired carbonated beverage, chilled. Those are the only ingredients. Brother, making a drink like this isn't cooking."

"Well it would take more skill to hash together than either of us have. Would you rather make...Orange Breakfast Nog?" you ask, snickering.

"Let's find something not in the drinks section," Al says.

"Fine. I saw cookies somewhere in here." You flip through the pages again. "Hey—look, Jelly Muffins! And...Corny Corn Bread." You almost lose your page when you fall over laughing, but Al saves the book.

"Let's make the Jelly Muffins," Al chuckles, watching you roll around on the floor. "Let's see...we'll need flour, sugar, baking powder, one egg, milk, and cooking oil. We should have all that already."

"Do-don't f-forget the jelly," you gasp as your laughs peter out.

"Oh yeah; it's on the next page. Why don't you get the eggs and milk from the fridge, and see if there's any jelly in there?"

You rise from the floor (some difficulty involved in the task) and open the fridge door, glancing around, purposefully ignoring the milk. "Nah...there's no jelly in here. Or eggs. Winry must have used them all."

Al dogears your page in the recipe book, placing it on the counter. "I guess I'll have to make a trip into town then. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, brush your hair and tie it back, and where did your apron go?"

"Hey, who's the older brother here?" you pout.

"Who _acts_ like the older brother?" Al replies cheekily as he slips past you and opens the door to the back porch. "Tell Granny and Winry where I went if they ask?"

"My beautiful hair and I say get out of here already," you say, straightening out our antenna with a smirk.

"Please. Your hair has nothing on mine. And you're sparkling," Al replies as he slips out the door.

You turn to the porcelain lamb-shaped cookie jar next to you. "He was just kidding," you say to it. "And I do not sparkle."

Five minutes later you are examining your distorted reflection in the toaster—purely out of boredom, of course—when your stomach gurgles. You grab a slice of bread from the fridge and pop it in the toaster, pushing the big lever down. However, the lever instantly springs back up. "Hey, stay down," you command it and try again, with the same results. You growl at it, and bring your fist down in anger—your automail fist. You yelp and clutch your port, sending a resentful glare at the squashed little silver box with wires and bits of metal protruding from it. "Ggh! Darn you...defective contraption...I guess I should fix you, but I hope you've suffered like I have."

You engage the toaster in an intense staring match for about thirty seconds. "...but the chalk is way upstairs," you moan dejectedly, bowing your head in defeat. You'll be shaky and sweating by the time you make it back to the kitchen!

But then, something you will never be able to explain to anyone but Teacher occurs. A tiny voice in your head whispers that you don't need the chalk. There are many ways to create a circle; you just need to form an energy source into a flowing circle of deconstruction, and reconstruction, and then alchemy is possible, right? So if you imagine yourself as a circle...that didn't make any sense, did it? You push these thoughts aside and act purely on instinct, closing your eyes and bringing your focus within yourself, picturing the energy inside you ebbing and flowing like the tide. You coax this tide into a powerful wave, then form it into a ring. You conjure up an image of the broken toaster in the center of it, mentally breaking down its composition, removing parts and replacing them where they should go and smoothing out dents, until you have a perfectly working toaster. You bring your hands together with a resounding clap.

Blue alchemic light sparks beyond your closed eyelids. When you open them, the toaster looks brand new, with some minor stylish adjustments. You gape in amazement at your hands. "Whoa, awesome!"

A mischievous grin alights on your face. You turn it on the lamb cookie jar. It's an ugly thing, you think, with a dumb expression on its face, what with its eyes pointing in two different directions. With every good intention in mind (or not) you clap your hands together and press them to the lamb. A flash of alchemic light later...it is transformed into a deformed porcelain mass. You blink, then scowl. "Hey, what was that?"

"Edward, Alphonse, what have I told you about alchemy in the house? Go outside if you want to practice," Granny Pinako calls from the other room.

"Uh, sorry Granny," you shout. You move to go outside, but almost fall over when you feel a solid tug on your automail arm. "Gaah! What now—huh?" You almost burst into frantic tears when you see that your arm has become a part of the no-longer-a-lamb mass. Winry will kill you! Well, at least your flesh arm survived the transmutation. But more importantly, Winry is going to murder you, probably with her favorite wrench.

You tuck the not-a-lamb under your left arm and move to the door. With some fumbling, you manage to get the door open, and step outside. You place the not-a-lamb on the grass, crouching beside it. "Alright, let's try this again."

The closest you can get to clapping is touching the tips of your fingers together, but this seems to suffice, as alchemic light sparks once more. You have a porcelain skull envisioned in your mind (one that is not attached to your person), and pray it comes out right.

A moment later, you gape in dismay at your newest catastrophe. The not-a-lamb is now seeping up your arm and into the cracks of your automail, brushing against your port.

"Ghhhh!" you scream, flailing your flesh arm in frustration. "What is wrong with me? I was never this bad at alchemy before! Maybe chalk is just easier to use. But it's still upstairs!"

Something catches the corner of your eye, and you look up to see a big gray blob in the distance. It's Al, back from the market. You redouble your efforts to fix your arm, no longer caring whether or not the not-a-lamb is ugly.

"Okay, this worked the first time. What did I do the first time? Uh...umm...gah! I can't remember—wait a minute! Hah, got it." You take a deep breath and close your eyes, forcing your agitated feelings to calm. You imagine an ocean of energy within you. It's blue-ish green, for some reason; everything beyond it is black. But suddenly, the background doesn't want to be black anymore. It's transforms into white, reminding you instantly of the Truth. You scowl as you remember what it felt like to be there. You focus back on the ocean, coaxing it to ebb and flow until it becomes a great force, then mentally shape it into a circle. You bring your hands together.

When the light from the alchemic reaction dims, you open your eyes. "Ha!" you laugh triumphantly. You point a finger at the not-a-lamb. "Not so tough now, huh sucke-" you cut your laughter off abruptly and frown deeply at the not-a-lamb that is once again, a lamb. It sits innocently in the grass, staring in two different directions.

This is how Al finds you when he arrives. He stops, glancing from the frowning you to the lamb. You. The lamb. You. The lamb. "Uh...brother? Did you, uh, want a cookie?"

"No," you deadpan.

"...Okay."

A fluttering sound, like a flag, draws both of your attention. A yellow thing flies in on the wind, catching on Alphonse's head. He peels it off and holds it out in front of him. What he sees makes him become stern as he places his giant hands on his hips. "Brother, why is the apron I gave you floating in the wind?"

"'Cause I put it there," you reply petulantly.

Al sighs, shaking his head. "This is why you're always dirty."

You're about to make a really great argument, like "Am not!", but before you can, you are blinded by the brightest light you have ever seen; literally blinded. Your eyesight lasts long enough to see that the light is a giant white square that has appeared between you and Al, and then everything is dark. You haven't fainted, though, and are completely aware of yourself; which is why you notice when the grass disappears from under you and it feels like you're floating in midair. Well, more like mid-void. You aren't quite sure how to react, until Al screams.


	2. Oh hello!

**Well hello. Welcome, dear reader. Click "follow" to join my army. Click "favorite" to support the army. Review to make your intentions clear and earn the army's respect. Follow/favorite the author for no reason whatsoever. **

**Disclaimer (which was forgotten in the first chapter. How shameful): If I own FMA, then I was not made aware of it. I'll put someone on beck and call to inform me if my status as a mere peasant of fanfiction has changed at all. **

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_Previously on HOBF_

_You're about to make a really great argument, like "Am not!", but before you can, you are blinded by the brightest light you have ever seen; literally blinded. Your eyesight lasts long enough to see that the light is a giant white square that has appeared between you and Al, and then everything is dark. You haven't fainted, though, and are completely aware of yourself; which is why you notice when the grass disappears from under you and it feels like you're floating in midair. Well, more like mid-void. You aren't quite sure how to react, until Al screams._

...

"Al! Al!" you call out, searching the air with your hands. Hand, you correct yourself. Your automail is still damaged from your alchemy foray. "Alphonse!"

"Ed!"

"Al?"

"I'm okay, Brother. Where are you?"

"How am I supposed to know? I'm fine too, otherwise. Can you move toward my voice?"

Before Al can reply, you feel something soft beneath you, and gravity seems to restore itself. You can hear Al's armor clanging. Blobs and blurs invade your blind state, but it's a welcome invasion. You begin to feel your way around on hands and knees. "Al? You alright?"

"Uh—yeah. I think so. What about you?"

"I'm good. Can you see?"

"K-kinda. Where are we?"

"I told you I don't know."

You hear Al moving around, just as you bump into something. Hard. "Ow!" You rub your forehead.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I found a table."

You almost mistake the sound Al makes for humming, but you know your brother too well for that. "Don't laugh, it hurts!"

"Just stay where you are. I've almost got my sight completely back."

"Mmm," you mumble, settling down where you are. Your curiosity soon overtakes you, however, and you find yourself feeling along the top of the table. You latch onto something soft, tug at it, and deduce by touch and what little sight you have that it is a tissue. You scoff and toss it over your shoulder, reaching for something hopefully more interesting. Al giggles nearby.

"What?" you demand, a ball paranoia rising up through your throat.

"S-something on your head, Ed," Al laughs.

You touch the top of your head—then redden and fling away the tissue that has somehow settled there. Al laughs harder and you reach up to your head again, only to find that the tissue has returned. You squawk indignantly, ball up the tissue this time, and throw it as hard as you can. "Did I get it?" you ask.

"Mmm-hmm. It's gone."

"I don't trust you."

"Alright. Here—give me your hand, I'll help you to that couch over there. How are your eyes?"

"Kinda still the same," you say, accepting the enormous gauntlet offered to you. You let Al be your eyes as he herds you around the room, until you reach the couch. It's surprisingly plush and fluffy, and almost engulfs you as you sit down. A bit of fluff goes into your mouth.

You spit the fluff out and say to Al, "What do you think that light was?"

"I don't know but...it reminds me of something...I can't exactly say what. Ugh! It's in the back of my mind I just can't dig it out."

You nod solemnly. This has confirmed what you suspected. "The Truth."

"The Truth?" Al gasps. "But we didn't perform any alchemy—much less human transmutation!"

You blush—remembering the lamb incident. You clear your throat. "Yeah, well, when my eyesight comes back we can investigate it more in depth. What kind of place are we in, Al?"

"I think we're in someone's house. I hope we aren't trespassing. By the looks of it I'd say maybe it belongs to a single woman."

"Trespassing? Forget that, this is kidnapping. I don't suppose the Truth would take us here, would it? Unless...someone else tried human transmutation and this is a byproduct of that?"

"That theory's a bit of a stretch, isn't it, Brother?"

"Yeah. We don't have any proof. I just wish I knew what was going on."

"Don't we all."

"...Al was that—"

"—That wasn't me."

A moment passes. Then you and Al both jump about three feet in the air, screaming. You try to assume a battle stance, but your automail arm still won't cooperate and you end up tumbling to the floor.

"Uh, who's there?"

"Don't sound so polite!" you snap, disgruntled at feeling so useless.

"Sorry!" Al squeals. Then continues in an authoritative voice: "Who's there? Show yourself or I'll—uh, do something we'll both regret!" It isn't much of an improvement from asking politely.

"Relax, I'm right here, I'm unarmed," says a blue blob in a placating manner, stepping into your blurry vision.

"Col-colonel!" Al yips. His armor shifts as he relaxes beside you. "What are you doing here?"

"Alphonse? I could ask you the same question." Suddenly, the Colonel's voice turns grave. "I hope for your sake you weren't messing around with anything you shouldn't be."

"Of course we haven't!" you shout. The blob bends over to peer at you on the floor.

"Edward? I thought it odd to find Alphonse without you right by his side. I apologize for my accusation."

Your temper deflates. "Uh, yeah," you mumble, unsure what to do now.

"Colonel, how did you get here?" Al asks. The blob has crossed the room, you realize, and is sitting in an armchair.

"Well, I was just getting started on my paperwork, but a bright light flooded the office and now I have spots in my eyes," the blob replies as Al scoops you off the floor, much to your mortification, settling you on the couch.

"The same happened to us," Al says. "Only, we were in Risembool. We weren't doing anything to make this happen, I swear."

"And neither was I," the blob agrees.

"Hello-o-o, anybody there?" another voice calls from somewhere in the house. The blob sits up straighter, though he's gradually becoming less of a blob.

"In here!" Al shouts.

"Who's that?" you wonder.

"The Lieutenant Colonel," the blob answers. He doesn't sound too happy saying it.

"Who's that?" Al repeats you unconsciously.

"Only the most annoying man to walk the earth," the blob says, just as another blob enters the room.

"Hey, Roy! You gotta help me!" the new blob exclaims, almost in tears. "I was eating lunch with my wife when I was whisked away here! She went to change her outfit after I spilled pudding on her, but what if she comes back and can't find me? She'll be devastated! Now, what did you do?"

"Me?" blob number one, the Colonel, asks disbelievingly. "I didn't do anything!"

"Oh, yeah right, like I believe that. You've always done something! Hey—" the new blob's voice changes to curious. "—who are these two?"

The Colonel sighs—your eyes have recovered enough that he can no longer be referred to as a blob. "Edward, Alphonse, this is Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes. Hughes, the big guy in the armor is Alphonse Elric, and the shrimp is his older brother, Edward."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE COULD BE MISTAKEN FOR SEAFOOD?!"

"Brother..."

Hughes blinks. "Are these the two brothers who performed human transmutation?"

That sentence flips a switch in the atmosphere. You find yourself trying to shrink into the couch without anyone noticing. Al shifts nervously.

"Yeah, they are," The Colonel replies curtly.

Before you can stop it, Hughes is in front of you two, shaking Al's hand off. "Pleasure to meet you! I've heard about you from Roy—the two of you must be incredibly talented alchemists!"

Then Hughes is shaking your hand—your automail hand. Most people would reach for your right hand to shake, then blanch when they saw your prosthetic, and awkwardly take your left hand instead—but not Hughes.

You muffle your scream by biting your lip. Hughes' eyes widen and he drops your arm, while Al rushes to your side. You are struggling to blink stars away. Bile burns in your throat. Someone has set your arm on fire.

"Brother, you're bleeding!" you register Al say. You glance at your port and indeed, blood is dribbling down it.

The Colonel is by your side too. "I'm no expert," he says. "-but this arm looks to be in serious need of maintenance."

"What? But Winry would have noticed!"

"I broke it...a few minutes...ago." Your voice is unexpectedly strong but your thoughts are like sand slipping through your fingers and it's hard to form a sentence.

"What?" Al exclaims. "How?"

"...Alchemy," you grunt. "Was...trying to fix...something."

Hughes has finished apologizing profusely in the background and addresses Colonel. "This boy needs to be in a hospital," he states. You think that this new serious attitude is incredibly out of character.

"Yeah, I know" says Colonel.

A third man enters the room. You're too focused on your breathing to give him much heed.

Someone has coaxed you into a lying position, though you can't remember when. A hand rests on your shoulder. You open your eyes to slits, but fling them wide open and try to scramble away when you see who it is.

Hoenheim grabs you and forces you to lie still. Your skin burns where he touches you. "Edward—lay still for a moment. I'm going to heal you."

"Like heck!" you spit.

"Ed, please just do what he says," Al pleads. You almost don't listen, but you are in a lot of pain, and you remind yourself that you trust Al; not your father, just Al. You do as Al says.

"Good," Hoenheim says pleasantly, and you almost jump up again just to spite him. The man puts his hands on your automail and your scarred shoulder where the port connects. You have the intense notion to tear his hands away and ask him all the questions that have been festering in your mind for years. You don't.

Hoenheim closes his eyes. Red light flashes. It takes you a monumental effort not to pull away. When the light fades, wonderment overtakes your hostility. Your arm doesn't hurt anymore—not in the least bit. Not even in the achy way it always has, even on a good day. Hoenheim asks you to roll up your left pants leg, and you do so. A flash of red light later, it feels as if your automail leg has been made whole; as good as the old leg. Your jaw drops open without your consent.

"How...how do you feel, Ed?" Al asks hesitantly.

"I-I...awesome!" you breathe. "Awesome!"

Hughes sighs, something akin to fondness settling in his features.

Hoenheim says with a smile, "That's good to hear, Edward. I'm glad you feel so 'awesome'."

This almost kills your good mood, but not quite.

"What was that?" Colonel asks.

"Just a little alchemy I picked up in Xing," Hoenheim responds humbly. "It's a form of alchemy that specializes in healing, called alkahestry."

Colonel nods. "I'd be honored if you would teach me some of this alkahestry."

"Me too!" Al exclaims, before backtracking. "Um—I mean, you probably don't recognize me, but I'm—"

"Alphonse," Hoenheim finishes. "It's been a while, son, but I'd recognize your voice anywhere."

"H-hi Dad," Al stutters, amazed.

"And Edward," Hoenheim turns to you, now sulking with your arms crossed and a scowl on your face. "It seems that some things have changed, though not all. Do you still refuse to drink milk?"

Something familiar in you snaps. Before anyone can stop you, you have kicked Hoenheim a good distance across the room. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BABY THAT HASN'T GROWN AT ALL BECAUSE HE DOESN'T DRINK HIS MILK?!"

"Brother, he didn't say that!" Al squeals, running over to help Hoenheim.

"That doesn't seem like any way to treat your dad," Hughes mutters.

"That man's not my father and he never will be!" you scream.

"Ed..." Al murmurs in concern.

The Colonel blinks. "What's your issue, Edward?"

"My issue?!" you squawk.

"Are you denying that anything's wrong?" Hughes asks playfully.

"I don't see what the matter is, Brother," Al says. Hoenheim has propped himself up on the floor, holding his nose. Through his fingers, you can see his face beginning to bruise and swell. You feel no remorse. Actually, he looks kind of funny like this and you have to suppress a dark chuckle.

"The matter is this jerk hasn't been in our life for over ten years and he just suddenly decides to turn up out of the blue like nothing happened," you hiss venomously.

"I know, but you haven't even given him a chance to explain anything! We don't know why he left; maybe he had no choice."

"Thank you, Alphonse," Hoenheim speaks up. "But Edward has every right to be upset with me." He smiles sheepishly, and you want to kick that smile off his stupid face. "If I were in his position, I'm afraid I wouldn't respond much better, if not worse."

"Jerk," you mutter.

"But why did you leave?" Alphonse asks, a tinge of sorrow ringing in his metallic voice.

Hoenheim avoids his soulfire gaze. "Not a day passes that I have not regretted my decision to leave you; I thought my reasoning was justified, but only harm has come forth from my choice to leave. I love my family more than anything in the world."

"R-r-r-ight," you drawl. "You're avoiding the question, old man. Why did you leave?"

Hoenheim sits up farther on the floor and crosses his legs. "I don't expect you to understand, and I won't elaborate at this point in time, but there were some things about myself that I needed to change. I thought all of us would be happier if I succeeded in making those changes, but so far I have only met failure in my endeavor."

"Oh. That's okay, Dad. You can tell us more when you're ready," Al replies with only a touch of hidden disappointment.

"Jerk," you say again. Then you surprise yourself and everyone by saying, "None of us would have cared if you were imperfect; the only thing that would have mattered is that you'd stayed with us. That you were our Dad, and Mom's husband. But you threw us away over false presumptions."

For the first time, Hoenheim's calm mask cracks completely. Memories are dredged up rapidly and nestle just behind his irises. The pain in them is so acute all your thoughts freeze from shock, but then his eyes dull and the mask is back in place. All of this happens so quickly you question if you really saw what you did. "You are right," he says. "There is no excuse for my actions. I am sorry that I have hurt you so much."

"Don't expect any pity from me," you spit, after regaining your composure.

"Ed, why are you so angry?" Al exclaims. You open your mouth to tell him exactly why, but close it just as quickly. You clench you fists and turn away.

There is an awkward silence. Colonel coughs. "So, you're Edward and Alphonse's father. My name is Colonel Roy Mustang."

"Van Hoenheim. A pleasure, I assure you."

"Hey, what's up? Maes Hughes."

Colonel gives Hughes a sidelong glare.

"What?" Hughes asks innocently. "I'm off duty—I'm not wasting my breathe telling him my full title." Then, Hughes goes into a panic once more, clutching at his hair. "And that reminds me that I need to get home to my dear sweet Gracia!"

"You seem to have too much breath as it is," Colonel mutters.

You break your silence for the sake of curiosity. "Hoenheim," you demand, pointing a finger at the man. "Do you remember how you got here?"

"Through a doorway of light that appeared quite suddenly," Hoeheim says, rising from the floor and sitting in an overstuffed armchair with the help of Al.

You wilt. "Well that doesn't help much. Actually, it doesn't help one bit."

"Well why don't we just take a look outside and see where we ended up?" Al suggests. Colonel and Hughes rush over to the curtained-off window. You try to follow, but you trip over your automail leg and sprawl on the floor. "Brother!" Al squeals, rushing over to your side.

You moan. "What was that?"

"I may have been able to heal your aches and pains," Hoenheim says. "—but the fact remains that you are not used to your new limbs, and still need time to adjust."

"What? That's lame!"

Al supports your elbow as you stand. "So where are we?"

Colonel turns around with a disgruntled expression. "In the middle of absolutely nowhere."

"What? Let me see." You hobble carefully over to the window and gape at what you see. Grass. Nothing but grass and blue sky. "What the heck is this?" you screech. "This is so lame!"

Another bright light blinds you. The same light from before. Everyone covers their eyes until it passes.

You blink several times. There are many voices around you that you do not recognize. Your vision shifts, causing most of the blurs and spots to vanish. An entire multitude of strangers stands before you. "Huh? Who are these guys?"

"EDWARD ELRIC WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

You scream and put your hands in front of your face defensively. "Aaah! It wasn't me, I swear!"

"Teacher!" Al cowers beside you. "H-honest! We haven't done anything!"

"Do you have any proof?" Your teacher booms, cracking her knuckles. You think you can see hellfire sprouting around her, but maybe the after effects of the light have not completely left.

"N-no!" Al stammers. "But we really didn't do anything! It's not our fault!"

"Please don't kill us!"

"LIARS!"

BANG BANG BANG.

The commotion stops. All eyes zero in on a woman with blonde hair wearing a military uniform, holding a gun. It is pointed at Izumi Curtis. Three bullet holes mar the wall behind Teacher. You silently pay your respects to the frightening military woman.

Teacher backs down uncharacteristically. She pulls out of her battle stance and levels a cool gaze on the blonde woman. "And who might you be?"

The woman doesn't relax in the slightest. "First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. You have demonstrated yourself to be a threat."

Teacher sighs, shrugging. "I suppose I have. If it's any consolation, I have calmed down now and I won't hurt anyone here—so long as you're not my enemy, that is."

Hawkeye hesitates at this obvious warning, then holsters her gun, keeping a sharp eye on your teacher. Sig shifts through the crowd and lays a hand on Izumi's shoulder. She reaches up to squeeze his hand in return. Nobody moves.

Another light shines, though it doesn't compare in intensity to the light before. Nonetheless, everyone turns toward it, tensing. On a large black screen hanging on the far wall, white text appears. It reads:

**Welcome. As long as you are here, you are safe. Be assured of that.**

You snort. It sure seems safe here.

**You have been gathered here for a specific purpose. To view your future. **

What the heck did that mean?

**Not many people are granted the chance to see into their future. Consider yourselves lucky, and please make the most of your time here. Do not bother looking for ways to leave or escape. You will only be returned to here. At the end of the viewing, you will be sent home to the places you were taken from as if no time had passed at all. It is up to you at that point how you would like to proceed with your lives. That is all. The viewing will begin momentarily. Please take a seat, and introduce yourselves briefly, if you will. **

**()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()**

**End of chapter 2-which I took the time to edit this time. Ed's thoughts were extremely rambling and my punctuation was out of control. I might go back and edit chapter 1 as well. **

**P.S.,**

**For anyone who has a problem with the 2nd person POV, take it up with your journal, parent, friend, therapist, I don't particularly care. Just don't bother me about it. This is the way I'm going to keep it and nothing you say will change that. **

**Sorry for getting serious there. I promise I'm not a mean person. Here-I'll prove it; have a cookie (::). And a smile :)**

**See you next time readers...**


	3. It Begins

**Merry Christmas everyone! No joke: I rode the polar express today. There's this family that lives nearby me that does this thing every year; they usher you into their garage where they've set up a sort of movie theater, and you watch the polar express while you wait for your turn on the train. The train is just big enough to sit on-it's this adorable little thing that's smaller than the trains you find at the zoo or an amusement park. Along the ride, little children are dressed up like elves and they are the most precious things I have ever seen oh my goodness. The first stop is Santa's workshop, which was totally decked out with plush toys, reds, greens, and everything. I saw a plush Olaf. My young womens group and I took a picture with Santa. He gave me a candy cane. After that is my favorite part. Santa had us all sing Silent Night, then we got back on the train and the true meaning of Christmas things started. The first thing we saw was a little nativity, and then there were a bunch of beautiful paintings we saw that took us from the birth of Christ, through his life, to his death and resurrection. All the while a hymn called "What Child is This" was playing. It was beautiful. And after the ride we signed some cards that are going to be sent out to the LDS missionaries. **

**Reader, if you are interested, go to my profile and click on the link I have labeled "The True Meaning of Christmas". It's a piano guys song. Or you can go to youtube and look up "O Come, Emmanuel The Piano Guys".**

**If you want to learn more, go to my profile and click on the link I have labeled "Learn about Jesus Christ, the son of God". Or, go to and click on the link that says "He is The Gift". **

**On with the show...**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO **_Previously on HOBF..._

_Another light shines, though it doesn't compare in intensity to the light before. Nonetheless, everyone turns toward it, preparing to fight. On a large black screen hanging on the far wall, white text appears. It reads:_

_**Welcome. As long as you are here, you are safe. Be assured of that.**_

_You snort. It sure seems safe here._

_**You have been gathered here for a specific purpose. To view your future. **_

_What? What does that mean?_

_**Not many people are granted the chance to see into their future. Consider yourselves lucky, and please make the most of your time here. Do not bother looking for ways to leave or escape. You will only be returned to here. At the end of the viewing, you will be sent home to the places you were taken from as if no time had passed at all. It is up to you at that point how you would like to proceed with your lives. That is all. The viewing will begin momentarily. Please take a seat, and introduce yourselves briefly, if you will. **_

_..._

"Yo! I'm Maes Hughes!" Hughes shouts out to everyone in the room, as soon as the text disappears. You can only stare, but this sets off a chain of introductions. Bodies bump into you on all sides and hands are thrust into your own whilst names are exchanged, reluctantly on your part. This is absurd.

You meet many military people. There is Riza Hawkeye (who you present your best manners to in hopes that she'll decide she won't want to shoot you), of course, and Colonel and Hughes. Then there are a few men that claim to be under Colonel Mustang's command named Breda, Falman, Fuery, and Havoc. Two other soldiers you meet are Maria Ross and Denny Brosh.

There are also a few soldiers from the North. General Armstrong is the one that makes the biggest impression on you. She doesn't shake your hand, and only says her name, but there's a look in her eyes that says she could maul you in a second. It doesn't help that she carries a sword. You move away from her quickly.

You meet her brother too. He is bigger than her, but definitely less scary. Still scary, but in a different way. He's more like I-might-accidentally-step-on-you scary than murder-you scary.

Then there are the people from Xing. You nearly bump right into little girl named Mei Chang with what has to be the world's tiniest panda bear on her shoulder. "Her name is Xiao-Mei," she says. "And she'll bite your hand off if you get too close."

You immediately retract the hand you had curiously extended to the cat-bear.

Even with her cat, you like Mei far better than the guy who calls himself Ling. Ling takes your automail hand like Hughes and tries to shake it off, exclaiming, "What a pleasure it is to meet you! Oh-is this automail! How interesting!" You're just lucky it's fixed now—and so is Ling, otherwise he wouldn't still be alive. Then, as if shaking your arm off isn't enough, Ling rushes forward. You slip into a defensive position, but Ling is fast and...entraps you in a bear hug. Growling furiously, you wiggle an arm free and raise it to strike. But then the world flips around and your face is shoved into the shaggy carpet so you can barely breath, your metal arm twisted behind your back.

"And I suppose you've met Fu and Lan Fan!" Ling says. It's official: you hate the Xingese boy, and his little bodyguards too.

Nobody helps you up. Amid the flurry of feet and shaking hands, you see through the gaps in the bodies someone who is not participating in the activity. He's an Ishvalan-not in a northern military uniform like the other Ishvalan, but all crossed arms and attitude, leaning against the wall. He has a large scar on his face in the shape of an X. He gives off possibly (however impossible it may be) even more of a kill-you vibe than General Armstrong. Though you bet those sunglasses came in handy when the light abducted him.

Lastly, there are four big guys milling around with names you don't care to remember. Oh well.

While everyone is finishing up introductions, you claim a spot on the fluffy couch, observing the crowd with a keen eye. You have to be on guard with all these strangers, especially when all of them are so dangerous, even the little Xing girl and her cat.

Everyone eventually finds a seat somewhere. Al sits beside you, and the Colonel, Hawkeye, and Hughes sit to Al's left. The others claim the remaining two couches and scattered armchairs, while Ling, his bodyguards, and Mei are left to take seats on the thick Persian rug. Text appears on the screen again.

**During the viewing, you will not be allowed to cause one another physical harm. Although I may find this amusing at times, it would only ultimately waste time because I have a feeling you will all be wanting to maul someone at one point. **

Well that sounds good, you think sarcastically, and with a touch of fear. The majority of the room's occupants are from the military, after all, and you are an eleven year old still recovering strength from a grueling automail surgery (you admit grudgingly that what Hoenheim did furthered along the recovery process by a lot).

Izumi snorts—presumably because she thinks pain is funny too, or she agrees that she will be wanting to maul someone.

"This person sounds a little sadistic..." Mei says in a small voice.

**Periodically songs or pictures will be shown as I deem them necessary or appropriate.**

"Pictures!" Hughes exclaims, reaching for his pockets. "Who wants to see my wonderful wife Gracia? We took a vacation not too long ago and she looked so beautiful in her sun hat I can't believe—"

Colonel nods to Hawkeye, who in turn holds her gun to Hughes' head.

Hughes has a forced smile affixed to his face. "Heh heh. But that can wait."

Hawkeye holsters her gun, expression blank as ever. You are beginning to like her.

Mei's horrified face suggests she thinks she has landed herself in a room full of homicidal maniacs (which she may have) and is trying to figure out what her chances of escaping alive are. Xiao-Mei cowers on her shoulder, doing her best to hide in Mei's hair.

"What's with the face?" Ling asks, suddenly appearing beside her.

She squeals and jumps in surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"Hi! We must have skipped over each other when everyone was introducing themselves earlier. The name's Ling Yao!"

"Ling Yao?" Mei questions warily. She gasps. "As in—the son of the emperor!"

"That's right! And you are?"

"My name is Mei. I'm from the Chang family," she responds quite sourly, eyeing the bodyguards sitting like statues behind him.

Ling rubs a hand over his chin. "The Chang family huh? That's one of the poorest clans in Xing!"

Mei growls. "Well I don't see how it's any of your business so just go away," she sniffs. Xiao-Mei bristles her fur and bares her teeth, trying to appear threatening.

"You two!" General Armstrong barks at them. Mei squeals again and Ling's bodyguards tense. "Cease this pointless chatter so we can proceed!"

"Okay!"

"...K-kay..."

The big northern guy with the lethal automail arm and stupid facial hair chuckles. Earlier, he took one look at you and walked away laughing, not even bothering to exchange names. He's on your hate list.

More words appear on the screen.

**Alright then. If you're all done chattering like monkeys, we will begin. **

The text fades, and the screen grows brighter. A picture forms; a city.

"What is that place?" you ask.

"Central City," Colonel replies. He's slouched unprofessionally on the couch in sharp contrast to Hawkeye, apparently having joined Hughes on the "I'm off duty" bandwagon.

"Where are you from, kid, if you don't know that's Central?" A man with blond hair—Havoc, you remind yourself—asks, not quite impolitely.

"Risembool," you quip.

Havoc takes a moment to think. "You mean...that town way out in the country?"

"Yup."

"So the little punk is a country bumpkin!" Havoc laughs. Hoenheim, Colonel, and Hughes wince in unison.

Havoc is sent sailing into a wall. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A STUNTED HERMIT WHO'S TOO SMALL TO LIVE IN A BIG CITY BECAUSE HE'LL GET STEPPED ON BY ALL THE PEOPLE WHO ARE GIANTS COMPARED TO HIM?!"

"He didn't say that Brother..."

"He implied it!"

"I don't think he really did," Denny chuckles nervously.

"Well he was thinking it!" you snarl. Then, you grin madly and raise your hands like hooked claws. "In fact...I think all of you are thinking it right now..."

Al runs over and snatches you up exasperatedly. "I'm so sorry everyone...he usually doesn't snap like this...well, not quite like this anyway...uh..."

"Have you always been this violent?" Colonel asks blandly. Al answers for you, as you are still seething like a demon.

"Um...yeah...pretty much..."

"In my experience Alphonse," Teacher interrupts. "Only two things can send Edward off the deep end. One is making him wear bright colors, and the other is to deprive him of food."

"Well, he's wearing a white shirt but I don't think that counts as bright. Oh, look at you!" Al shakes his head. "You're covered in bits of pink fluff from that couch. So am I! And the Colonel, and Miss Hawkeye, and Mister Hughes..."

As Al lists off their names they each check over themselves self-consciously, though Hughes just glances over his sweater and shrugs. You pull out of your rage to look down at yourself—your face twisting in disgust to see that you are indeed covered in pink fluff. "Ewww gross, Al, get it off!"

"No." Al sets you on the floor. "What am I, your maid? Get it off yourself!"

"Fine! Gaaah, stupid furniture. Stupid house. Stupid screen thing," you mutter, sitting down on the giant plush carpet with Mei and Ling—though as far from Ling as possible—so the couch can't attack you again.

"I don't know if any of you idiots have noticed this," General Armstrong says darkly, "-but every time one of us speaks the screen pauses. And if that thing doesn't play then we may be stuck here for the rest of our lives. When we run out of food, we'll have to resort to cannibalism, and I'm already making a list of who goes first. So I suggest we all zip our lips good and tight."

Everyone—even the scarred man—shivers.

**Central is shown at night from an overhead view as ominous music begins to play. A hand draws a transmutation circle on the ground with chalk. **

You lean forward, trying to figure out what the circle is for, but the scene switches too fast. You feel a tap on your shoulder, and look over to see that Al is holding out a jar of strawberry jelly to you. Huh. So the groceries were transported here as well. You accept the jar gratifyingly, twist off the top, and plunge your flesh finger into the gooey substance, sucking it off your finger contentedly.

**Attached to the hand is a man in a cloak in deep concentration. The camera slides rapidly up and away from the alley, showing military HQ shining brilliantly in the dark.**

**"The Freezing Alchemist? Really? He's here?" Roy Mustang's voice asks.**

**"We have information that he managed to slip into Central a few days ago," Fuehrer King Bradley replies as a picture of a man from the alleyway is shown on a file resting on a desk.**

"The Freezing Alchemist?" Colonel mutters quietly to himself. "I've never heard of him. How far in the future is this?"

**The Fuehrer stands in front of a large map of Amestris. "That's why I've summoned you here, Colonel." **

**Mustang is shown standing in front of a door. "I need you and your men to spoke him out, and bring him in."**

**Mustang's stance at attention stiffens. "Consider it done, sir."**

**Bradley gives a small grunting laugh. "I'm glad you're with us in Central for a while, Mustang. It's good to know I have people I can count on."**

**Mustang bows his head. "Sir."**

**"Uh, one last thing. Our rising star is here as well. I'm placing him at your disposal."**

"Rising star? Who could that be?" Colonel asks.

"If you'll shut your pie-hole then we'll find out," General Armstrong replies.

**"Forgive me Fuehrer Bradley, but—just to be clear-you're referring to-"**

**"I am," Bradley interrupts. "The Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric."**

The screen pauses, as if it is expecting a huge blowout. Random tingles crawl over your body, making you feel a little numb. The Fullmetal Alchemist. How ironic. If anything, Al is full metal, not you. You're only part metal. But the Partmetal Alchemist doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

Havoc breaks the silence first. "Huh. I was wondering why a kid was here. Now it makes sense, I guess."

Colonel hums to himself. Does that look on his face mean he's impressed? Bored? Secretly plotting your demise? "Congratulations, Edward. It looks like you made it. Or should I say, Fullmetal." Hawkeye smiles softly at you from beside him. You have the sudden feeling that those eyes you previously thought of as cold are actually a warm sherry.

Your arms are pinned to your sides and a crying behemoth is squeezing you to death.

"Oh Edward Elric! What a marvelous achievement!"

"Nooo! Don't get your sparkles on me! Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

It takes half the room and five minutes to convince Armstrong to release you from his strangle hold (hug?). Then everyone is putting in their two cents. Most of the people seem to be in shock, but no one freaks out and goes on a fiery rampage. However, General Armstrong is giving you a hard stare, and you can't decipher its meaning. You glance over at Hoenheim, and find that you can't read his thoughts either by just looking at him. Some people seem to be indifferent about this new development, and others maybe a little anxious, uncertain, and disapproving. Hughes is just smiling, as always, though he does seem more sober than usual.

"How could they let a kid into the military?" Maria Ross is muttering to Denny. "It's entirely irresponsible—it should be against the law."

Over the conversing voices, a crack of knuckles catches your attention. Teacher. Oh sweet heaven and earth you forgot about Teacher. She might go on a fiery rampage—but most likely she'll just drag you down beaten and bloody straight to the depths of Hades.

Teacher stands up. She glares down at you, shadows covering her face. You hands are shaking. "Erp! Heh, heh. Teacher! I mean—I can...explain..."

"Can you, Edward?" she asks in a low voice that unsettles you. "How do you explain...GOING AGAINST EVERYTHING I EVER TAUGHT YOU AS A RESPECTABLE ALCHEMIST! AAAA!" Teacher kicks you across the room, not quite sending you through the wall but cracking it. It must be a really sturdy wall.

"Oooh," you moan, sitting up. You feel a sandal print on your face. "Whatever happened to not being able to hurt one another?"

More white text types its way onto the screen.

**I decided that it's a good way for you little devils to vent. Have fun! **

You twitch. "Why you—little? Rrr."

You feel another kick to your side—like being hit by a load of bricks moving at fifty miles an hour. Only this time, your landing is even more unpleasant. It doesn't hurt more than slamming into a wall, but it is definitely unpleasant, at its best. You go flying right into Colonel Mustang. Your momentum causes him to fall off the couch and onto the floor, with you on top. He pushes you off quickly, and you return the favor by shoving him in front of you—between yourself and Teacher.

As Teacher advances on you, Colonel responds by pulling a glove out of his pocket and putting it on, getting ready to snap. "Edward, who exactly is this woman and why does she keep trying to kill you?"

"That-that's my alchemy teacher," you stammer.

"FORMER ALCHEMY TEACHER!" Teacher—er, Izumi...Mrs. Curtis...whatever she is now—screams. She hasn't gotten any closer to you, thanks to Colonel, but you feel no safer because of it.

"Former? You're expelling me?" Your eyes are wide.

"That goes for you as well, Alphonse!"

"Me? But I didn't—uh...okay," Al tries to protest, but finishes dejectedly.

"But why?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"The military is despicable," Izumi growls. "You have disgraced yourself, and my teachings by becoming a state alchemist. You are not worthy to be my student."

You look at the ground, clenching and unclenching your fists. Anger is forming a white-hot ball in your chest, because it seems so unfair for your teacher to expel you with very little explanation or allowing for further inquiry on your part. And it's even more unfair for her to group Al with you like this. But after being her student for so long, you have come to understand very well that blowing up in front of Izumi Curtis is a very bad idea. So you grit your teeth, stand up, and nod. "I understand, Teacher," you say submissively, then return to your seat on the carpet. You try to douse the fire in your chest by breathing in lots of the cold air.

"Please refrain from addressing me with that title, Edward."

You nod.

"Man, that's rough. Poor kid," Havoc sympathizes quietly.

"That's one scary lady," Feury whimpers.

"Agreed," Breda and Falman input.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**(Okay, I realize Christmas is over, but I had that AN typed up for a while now and I just never got around to publishing this chapter until now. Sorry. Thanks for reading)**


	4. Author note

**This is my farewell letter readers, as I embark into the dangerous world known as...life *shudder*. I know that this is one journey I won't come out of in one piece without a lot of help, and I know I'll be changed forever when I've reached the end of the long road ahead. I bid you ado, and goodnight. My account on fanfiction shall rest here eternally, untouched except perhaps for PMs. But I will not be writing or reading another fanfic ever again; I'm abandoning the site...and yes it will feel like ripping something out that is deeply embedded in my chest and covered in lots of lovely thorns, because I'm addicted to fanfiction. That's why I'm leaving, because I am terrified of addiction. And unfortunately, I inherited they type of personality from my dad that is very, very, VERY easily addicted to anything at all. Sugar, video games, TV, sleeping, nail-biting, hair-chewing, reading, an app on my phone...you name it, I'll get hooked on it. I'm sorry to those who liked this story and/or any of my other stories. But I can't have this addiction following me any longer if I want to get anywhere in this journey. I wish all of you well and would like to thank all of those who favorited, followed, and/or reviewed this story, or did any of these 3 things secretly in your head. I got giddy when I found out people were not only reading my work, but LIKING it. Whoever you are, the only thing I know about you is that you are awesome :). And by chance if any of you rage-quit before you could read this whole message, well then, you missed out on these cookies I'm sending y'all who read this message to the end. Thanks guys, hope you can make this year a great one. (::) (::) (::) **


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